


The Knight and the Traitor

by greatrenown



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:01:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28897821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greatrenown/pseuds/greatrenown
Summary: I gave Dryya and Xero backstory and I'm going to make people look at it
Relationships: Dryya/Xero (Hollow Knight)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 21





	1. Disinterest

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly this is an incredibly self indulgent fic, and I haven't had the confidence to post something I've written on such a big site before. Thanks for giving a read!

Footsteps fell heavy on the floors of the palace hall. Reluctant, slow footsteps drawing towards the massive double doors of the consensus hall.

Xero’s first meeting as the official general of the Pale Guard, and he didn’t even want to be there. He would rather skip all of this, all the introduction and announcement. All the unnecessary prose bound to be spoken by the King, if the letter of invitation for this position he had received months ago was anything to go off of. 

He takes a deep breath, before he actually approaches the door. Even after so many visits, he still marveled at the guards that stood posted about the palace. Massive creatures compared to the common small beetles of Hallownest. He wasn’t even sure they were really bugs. The air around them seemed to grow cold, and muted, like a snowfallen night. Their eyes seemed to bore into his soul. They never made so much as a gesture, never blinked, no rise and fall of their bodies as they breathed…

The door swings open, dragging the ant’s mind from his unease. Various palace staff of high rank have already been seated. Hired guards, tacticians, scholars, even a few bugs of faith. At the head of the table sits the Pale King himself, in all his migraine-inducing brilliance. Yet.. Xero feels drawn into his presence, calmed by the atmosphere about the King. 

He pushes himself forwards, to the empty seat labeled with his name, between a brown leaf bug and a gap of empty seats. He looks down to his name card, calligraphed in silver ink in intricate, curling letters. How unnecessary. He wonders how expensive the ink must have been just to make.  
Xero leans back in his chair, waiting with great disinterest for the meeting to begin. 

The doors open, and the last few bugs file in. Xero pays all of them no mind, just shifting his seat slightly with an annoyed grumble as the dress of the bug beside him brushes his arm. She seems to ignore him, something that makes no difference to Xero either way. 

_“Citizens of Hallownest,”_ the disembodied voice startles Xero, and several others in the room. It is otherworldly, captivating, beautiful. Xero's attention is pulled to the King, though he could swear not of his own volition. _“Members of our court, both old and new, we welcome you. It is our greatest honor to seat you at our table, to serve you as your king.”_

Xero sinks in his seat, tilting his head back. He crosses one leg over the other, and laments his agreement to attendance. 

_“We will commence this consensus with a welcome to our most incipient hires.”_ The King goes on, as he unfurls his silver wings behind him. _“Xero, please stand.”_

 _I would rather crawl under the table and begin biting ankles._ Xero thinks, nothing short of bitter. Nevertheless he stands, and offers a polite bow, feeling as out of place as a tiktik in a flock of maskflies. All eyes in the room are on him, and he’s acutely aware of the fact he can’t tell them to stop gawking and mind their own business. No, he has to stand there, looking as pretty as he can. Letting these silver spoon-fed dandies marvel at him. He gives his best impression of a bug that doesn't wish to sink into their own armor and disappear.

_“We commend you on your valiancy and adeptness in combat. You have proven yourself adaptive, expeditiously perspicacious, and decisive. A tactician of brilliance, and scarcely matched with a nail. For this we grant you promotion to the rank of general. Welcome.”_

Xero hardly listens to the king. He only nods, and grabs at the sides of his armor beneath his cloak. He’s never liked being the center of attention, this is far from an exception.

_“We wish you good fortune and good health in your new assignment. At ease.”_

_Gladly._ Xero drops into his seat rather unceremoniously, turning his gaze down to the surface of the table. Anything to avoid making eye contact. The sooner he can go home, the more people he can avoid meaningless conversations with, the better. 

_“We welcome four knights among us today, in turn.”_

Knights? Xero has to stifle a scoff. All these guards, all these soldiers, and the King feels the need for knights? How much geo does he have to throw around, anyways? This, he just has to watch, despite his desire to remove himself from this situation altogether. It's all so egregiously ridiculous.

 _“Ogrim, the Loyal.”_ The massive dung beetle at the end of the row rises upon the utterance of his name, offering a polite smile to those around them.  
Xero thinks he looks easy to topple over. One kick to those tiny legs and he would come crashing down with ease. Not to mention the stench. Maybe that would be enough to drop an enemy or two. What an embarrassment.

 _“Hegemol, the Steadfast.”_ Another massive bug, but notably more sturdy than the last. A helmet adorned with curved horns, with a noticeable split down the middle.  
Xero squints. He sees where the name steadfast comes from, but he can’t help but think how slow a bug of that size weighed down by that much armor must be. Easy to dart around, and not much safer from a good toppling.

 _“Ze’mer, the Mysterious.”_ A silverfish next. She towers over the others when she rises, and the commendations to Ogrim and Hegemol quiet for a moment as though captivated by her presence. No gestures from her, no words, nothing. Only silence.  
Xero feels as though a bug that lanky would have trouble so much as lifting a nail suited for their height. Indeed, she looks more delicate than a new sprout of moss. And her tall frame, surely she lacked agility to some degree. Just what is the King thinking?

 _“Dryya, the Fierce.”_ The bug whose skirt had brushed Xero’s arm prior. She’s shorter than the other three, but there’s a determined air about her. Her black eyes are cold and calculative, her posture rigid.  
She’s all business, Xero can see that much clearly. Another stiff-standing poppy with nothing impactful to say, he’s sure. Her lithe frame must make her agile, but a dress? For a knight? Beyond impractical. Xero almost wants to laugh at the bugs the King has chosen to be named as his knights. 

_“Each of you has proven to us trustworthiness of the highest degree, a dedication to Hallownest unsurpassed by many, the sense of duty to protect it with nail and claw. To direct and guide, to inspire fellow soldier, to bring comfort to the common citizen with presence alone. For these reasons, we celebrate your new titles, and welcome you among our court as the Four Great Knights of Hallownest. At ease.”_

The four sit, and Xero eyes them. He could only imagine what a pain working with them would be. He almost wants to request returning to his days as an average soldier, but the idea of having these charlatans in charge of him makes him angrier than the idea of having to accept them as peers does. 

The slender bug- Dryya- catches his eye. She squints, and leans just slightly Xero’s way. Beneath her breath, she hisses. “Do you _need_ something, or are you merely going to gawk at us until we’re excused?” 

Xero finds himself surprised by her snappy attitude, but not too much. He rolls his eyes, and turns his head away.  
“I was more hoping you’ll all dissipate into a fine powder, really.” He whispers in reply, tone flat.

She huffs, but pays him no more mind. She fixes her gaze on the King, and straightens her posture once more. 

Xero chuckles, and leans back in his seat again. Just as he had thought, someone who was all prim and proper, merely an appearance and an attitude. A pretty face. If it was this easy to bother her, she wouldn’t keep this job long, he was sure.  
None of the four would, doubtlessly.


	2. The art of Irritation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dryya gives her input while training some new soldiers, much to Xero's chagrin.

It wasn’t the first time Xero had been asked to train new recruits in his military career. Indeed, he was no stranger to the fumbling and awkward scrabbling of new soldiers to prove they’re meant for this role they’ve been granted. He was the same way once, after all. Though, that was a long time ago. He was a different bug then, in a kingdom far from this one, mooning over the to-be Queen though he was only a soldier… 

He sighs as he watches two bugs spar. They weave and dart around one another in some awkward dance of misjudged strikes. It’s almost agonizing to watch after so long training himself, noting exactly where a swing could be corrected, or where the slightest hesitation spoils what would have been an excellent hit. Xero crosses his arms, drumming his claws on his armor as he contemplates stepping in to offer advice. He certainly should, he knows, but he would prefer to get a solid idea of where each struggles. If he can work with each of the new recruits one on one, even just for an hour or two, it will make a world of difference. Each bug has unique capabilities, and to treat them as a uniform mass strikes Xero as a foolish notion.

“Attention!” He raises his voice to gather the attention of the several dozen new recruits. Xero steps down from the patio from which he had overseen the courtyard, observing the faces of the soldiers as he does so. They file into neat rows before him- or, as neat as they can manage, but it’s of no difference to him. Xero has never been one to care for appearances much, he considers the standing order of the army less than significant. 

“I want to welcome you to your first official day of training. I’m sure many of you are nervous,” he begins. He doesn’t need to guess, he can see it in the awkward fidgeting and avoidance of eye contact. “It’s an understandable thing. Today is a new beginning for all of you, to carry your blade and shield under the banner of the Pale King himself.”

“From what I have observed thus far, I can see that each of you shows promise… Yet, you all have a long way to go. You will have to work hard, and train harder, in order to achieve your potential. I’m here to help you with that.” Xero folds his arms behind his back now, letting his cloak fall neatly around him as he straightens his posture.

“I may be your general, but while we are on the training grounds, think of me as a fellow soldier. There is no distinction between you and I but experience. My goal over these next few weeks is to share this experience with each of you, to see you succeed as I have, and assist you in avoiding mistakes I’ve made on the battlefield.”

There’s a quiet murmur among them, as though they’re baffled by Xero’s approach, and he can’t say he blames them. He remembers his own commander only ever observing from afar, barking orders and belittling those that stumbled. Xero had decided as soon as he had been given this task that he would not teach his own soldiers in the same way. Harsh criticism wasn’t what they needed, but guidance.

“I will spend time with each of you individually over the course of your training, and I will assist you in your own struggles when it comes to facing an opponent. In my observances today I have noticed one thing common among you…” He takes a deep breath. “You lack confidence in your decision-making. This, however, can be built into a strength. Your opponent will take hesitation as a weakness. They will likely use your hesitations as a window of opportunity. This can be used to lure them into a false confidence. In essence, you can shift your hesitations into something done with purpose. You let them move in, and retaliate when they attempt an attack.”

He turns to approach a training dummy, aware of countless pairs of eyes set on his every movement. Xero draws one of his two nails from his side, and he points it at the dummy. “Take this as an example. Consider I the opponent, and this mannequin one of you.” He readjusts his grip, and steps forwards as though lunging to strike, taking the movement slow so they may watch his footing. “My opponent does not pose an immediate threat when they cannot strike decisively. Where I would be caught unaware,” he misses this strike on purpose, jabbing just to the side of the dummy. “Is stillness as a lure. My opponent waiting until the last moment to move out of my way, and strike me as I pass them by,” he goes on. 

“See here how I have left my back exposed for striking by moving past them. A quickly thrown fist or jab of the shield could easily knock me off of my footing. They must be quick in retaliation, or an opportunity will be missed. What this boils down to,” Xero straightens his posture and puts his nail away in one swift, fluid movement. “Is turning your mistake into an opportunity. It is a denial of instinct, at the core, a refusal to freeze up in the moment. A refusal to bask in the moment of relief that the knowledge of their miss brings. Biding your time, if you would.”

He watches the expressions of the trainees as they contemplate his words, and he hopes that they’ll take what he’s said seriously. He can tell a few will, and that fills him with some degree of confidence. He can tell that others aren’t even paying attention, staring absently off into the distance and gawking.

“Walk yourself through the steps of this slowly, take turns practicing between being the attacker and the defense. Train yourself on this until it becomes redundant, burn it into the core of your memory until it becomes a habit. Remember, let them approach you, get out of their way, strike their back as they pass you by.”

He takes a deep breath yet again to say more, but his thoughts are dragged to a grinding halt by the approach of footsteps. His expression falls flat into a resting scowl as he looks over his shoulder to see Dryya approaching. How long has she been observing? He curses himself for not paying more attention to his surroundings. Xero turns to face her. “Good morning, miss Dryya.” It’s the wrong title, he’s well aware, but he uses it on purpose. In front of his soldiers, he will be civil, but she will know that he has no patience for her interruption. “May I be of assistance?”

Dryya stares at him with an expression he couldn’t possibly read. All he can note is those observant eyes, fixed on him as though they could dig into his very soul and pick him apart. It makes Xero want to kick her upside the head just to get her to stop looking him in the eye, but alas, he isn’t tall enough to do so without looking a bit ridiculous.

“I was sent to assist with training.” Dryya clarifies, stern and to the point. “Forgive my negligence in observing before approaching. I only wished to see how I might contribute anything meaningful to this endeavor.”

“I see. Well, thank you, but your contribution won’t be necessa-”

Dryya cuts him off, turning her eyes to the gathered soldiers. “What Xero has told all of you is indeed useful, but majorly incorrect.”

Xero feels his jaw drop behind his helmet, and he has to clench his claws into tight fists to help him curb his temper. She’s come here just to undermine him, then. What could she possibly know of how to handle a fight? He doubts she’s seen anything more than bickering over which tea set to use. Somehow, he musters the resolve to listen to her instruction.

Dryya needs not straighten her own posture as she speaks again, she carries herself with an undeniable purpose that Xero feels must be laughable knowing she’s only another spoiled aristocrat at heart. “Your instincts are crucial to your own survival, it is why they exist. Before mind was saved and purpose given by His Majesty, instinct was all any bug had. Though it is remnant of a darker time, its purpose remains the same. Always trust your intuition, and never hesitate.”

She doesn’t even spare Xero a glance as she steps forwards, overtaking his placement. “When you make a decision in your subconscious, in those split seconds before your enemy strikes, you must follow through with it. While Xero is correct that hesitation can be turned to opportunity, it is not opportunity for the bug on the defense. It is a weakness, a falter, that will be exploited. Your enemies will show you no mercy, you must not give them the opportunity to exercise that.”

She draws her nail to brandish it, elegant and smooth in her movements. A disgusting show of grace and poise. Irritatingly beautiful, but pointless. “In turn, your nail is an extension of yourself, not just a weapon. To think of it this way allows you to more effectively utilise your space. When you are in close quarters beside fellow soldier, the distinction between weapon and self becomes thin, and you must accept as much. To consider the nail in your hand as nothing more than an object, a tool, subconsciously promotes reckless use of it. It could lead to injury of your peers, or yourself, and thus a gain for the enemy.”

Dryya lowers her nail, and gently rests the tip of the blade against the ground. “You must not let your weapon be your source for your sense of capability, in this same regard. Your weapon is not what makes you strong, but what allows you to better utilise your strength.”

She spares a glance to Xero that makes his blood boil, though her gaze upon him is fleeting. “Over all, it is priority to remain aware of yourself and your surroundings, and allow your instincts to do the rest for you.”

Xero scoffs, unable to help himself. “Are you kidding me?”

“No.”

The ant strides closer to prod Dryya with a claw. “You are here to _help me_ with training, not overtake it and oversee it yourself.” He’s aware of the anger that creeps into his tone, but he cannot find it in himself to stifle it. “Everything you’ve just told these bugs would get them killed. You’ve showcased nothing to them but idiocy and a demand for attention. Instinct is only useful when you have nothing else to rely upon. _Instinct_ is for animals and the desperate.”

She doesn’t blink when he prods at her again. She does not flinch, not express anything. She remains calm in the face of his upset, and Xero finds it infuriating that he cannot gather anything from her expression or her stance. He leans up, attempting to get in her face, but her tall frame makes that a challenge. “I have no patience for a _knight_ interrupting important work, only to insist she knows better than I the trials and tribulations of warfare. I have to laugh.” His voice lowers into a hiss, white eyes narrowing into a squint.

“I suppose you, as a general, know more than a knight granted her own accolade ceremony and chosen specifically by His Majesty.” Dryya replies, once again in a tone impossible to derive anything from. He can’t tell if it’s some snarky retort, or if she’s serious.

“Yes, I _would!_ ” Xero huffs, stepping back. “Knights are useless for anything but appearances! Knights are for children’s stories! Look at you, pristine shell, prancing about in a _dress_ of all things! Anyone could gather you’ve never seen more than a petty squabble, you were only chosen so that the citizens of Hallownest may indulge in some fantasy that the knights will be their heroes, while those of us that do the real work will be ignored.” He takes a breath that does nothing to calm him. “You are nothing more than a pretty face that masks incapability, just like every other wealthy bug in this entire court. You don’t know anything about getting your hands dirty, and let’s face it, you never will! You’ve never known a battlefield, nor a nail, surely. So take your instinct, and shove it up your-”

“ _Xero._ ” Dryya speaks more firmly, cutting him off. “If you are going to stand here and belittle me, dismiss your soldiers first. You are wasting time that they could be spending training.”

Xero growls, knowing she’s right, and ashamed his recruits have witnessed his temper this way. This wasn’t the impression he had wanted to make, but it’s been ruined now. They will all go home this evening knowing he was so easily put off by something as small as an interruption. “Soldiers, you are dismissed.” He puffs, giving no further acknowledgement to her words.  
Once the soldiers have dispersed to resume their training, murmuring amongst themselves, Xero lets forth another bout of reckless but honest words. “You’ll get nowhere by undermining me, nor overstepping your bounds. Go home to your silver-laced life. You’ll have room to give input on how I train my soldiers when you’ve actually experienced the heat of war.”

Dryya only stands and stares once more. She leans down slightly, and gives Xero a light shove before she straightens her posture once more. “You are too full of yourself.” She replies, turning to begin her retreat. “I would be just as happy to leave you be, it will not be my fault when this army is cut down because they were trained by an arrogant and impulsive lumpen.”

“All as well.” Xero snaps, only letting the tension melt from his frame when she is at last out of sight. He sighs, and shakes his head. He figures Dryya will likely report his little meltdown to the King or Queen, and while he will not be punished, he knows he will surely be spoken to on the matter of self control. And of course, the words of a lowly bug like himself would go unheeded against hers, such was the way of the high life.

Xero relocates himself to a bench to sit, and puts his head in his hands. The day has hardly even begun, and he already wishes for a break.


	3. Standing Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xero and Dryya have a chat regarding judgements and mistreatment.

Since the introduction of the Great Knights to the ranks, a scheduling board had been placed within the barracks. Training regimes, daily assignments, patrols, even things as small as chores, all planned out by the Pale King’s Court. Meticulously. _Restrictingly._ There were few breaks to be seen across the entire grid, and even then only granted to higher ranking officials. 

Just looking at it irritates Xero. He squints, trying to sort through tiny but embellished handwritten names and numbers, lamenting the hour at which he is required to be awake each day. Waking before the evening lights went out in exchange for the brighter daylight was nothing new, but that didn’t make it any less of a nuisance. Sleep was a difficult thing for Xero to come by as it was, after all.

He clutches a mug of warm nectar in his hands as he stands there, looking down the list once more in some hope of actually reading it. He adjusts his hold on the cup, lifting one hand to run it down the list of names. His antennae swivel back when he realizes this schedule is the most poorly organized he’s ever seen. It’s not broken up into groupings of any kind, but simply a list of names, in alphabetical order, followed by their assignments for the week. He wonders if those in charge of the schedule are aware the board could be better organized than just by name.

And yet Xero doesn’t care to bring it up to them. He’ll simply bite down and bear it, as he’s done these past three weeks or so since his first squabble with Dryya. He figures it had gone unreported, because every training day since had been roughly the same. They could hardly agree on anything, and Xero could swear Dryya finds some sort of entertainment in holding her status above his own when the inevitable arguments happen. He had been teaching himself to read her, to pick up on the tiniest hints of emotion… He wasn’t getting far, but he could see the slightest change of her blank expression when she proved herself better controlled than he could ever be. Every time. 

He passes names down the long list before he finds his own, and he leans in to get a better look.   
_Xero_  
 _04:00-00:00_   
_Border Patrol: East_  
 _To be accompanied by: Dryya_

Xero nearly drops his mug when he finally deciphers the intricate lettering. He wishes Hallownestian were as easy to read as it was to speak, and that the pompous bastards in charge of the show would _stop fucking writing in intricate calligraphy._ He sighs, and rests his head against the wall for a moment, steeling himself for what’s bound to be an insufferable day. 

When he straightens his posture again at last, he finishes off the mug of now-cooling nectar, before carelessly tossing the entire thing in the nearest garbage bin. He pauses, realizing he’s just ruined a perfectly good mug, and he groans. Off to an excellent start already!

The next half an hour goes by in something of a blur. Donning armor and cloak, sharpening his nails, and wasting a few minutes sitting around doing nothing short of nothing at all. Passing soldiers try to make conversation, and go largely ignored as Xero mulls over how he’s going to handle nearly twenty hours stuck with Dryya. Twenty hours, watching the very edge of the kingdom, just across the chasm from territory belonging to the dreaded Blackwyrm. Twenty hours in falling ash with his least favored companion. They’ll be lucky if they can make it more than two without an argument, he’s sure of it.

Unfortunately soon, he’s reminded he needs to get going. He doesn’t want to be late, it would just give Dryya one more thing to feel smug about. He refuses to give her any more to belittle him for, as he’s sure she does when he’s not paying her any regard. Pushing himself up off of the bench, he stretches, and makes his way to the rendezvous point.

It doesn’t take him long to reach the crowded tram station. He finds some satisfaction in looking about to note no sign of Dryya’s figure among the… very short bugs of Hallownest. Xero himself isn’t very tall, but there is an undeniable degree of amusement to be found in the knowledge that he can see over most bugs. 

This amusement, however, is short-lived. The next tram pulls into the station, and as the doors rattle open, he grimaces. _Dryya is already aboard? How in Hallownest’s name-_ He sighs, and moves to board beside her, offering only an awkward greeting as he lifts a hand to grip a bar, though other bugs onboard the tram shuffle off, save for the conductor. The edge of the kingdom, where their border meets the Hive’s, has limited the access by law only to officials from both monarchies. A neutral ground, of sorts.

The tram ride is awkwardly silent, but it’s all as well in Xero’s eyes. It gives him time to further his consideration of the predicament that is his unfortunate assignment of patrol partner. Why was it that she was so unpleasant? Why did she seem to hold some need to overtake his work every chance she got? Why was it she could do everything so perfectly, when Xero struggled just to save a little face in front of his mock-peers?

His gaze wanders across the tram to where Dryya sits. Her focus is turned out the window, slender claws folded neatly in her lap, her nail leaned against the seat beside her. Light filters through the tram windows across her white shell, revealing some minor iridescence Xero had never noticed before. She looks so out of place among the decor of the tram, both in height and… presence as a whole. She was a bold presence, it was impossible to not notice her, especially there in the quiet dark of the tram’s interior. There’s something different about the way she rests- perhaps the fact that she’s resting at all. Her gaze is distant, nothing like the calculating and piercing observance he had become used to from her. It’s softer, almost, though that’s a term used loosely for someone like her.   
Xero wonders what she’s thinking about.

Her head tilts slightly his way, and Xero is a little too quick to turn his eyes elsewhere, focus on anything but her. This leads to him making some uncomfortable eye contact with the conductor before he clears his throat and looks to a window instead. He hadn’t meant to stare at Dryya, he hopes she hadn’t noticed, yet he doubts such is the case. She seems to notice everything. It makes him feel so small sometimes, knowing she had likely mentally picked apart everything about him the second they had properly interacted.

He sighs, and closes his eyes for a moment. Maybe- just maybe- if things stay the way they are now, he’ll be able to make it through this day without incident. He hopes so, he doesn’t have the energy to bicker today as he might any other. At the very least, the exhaustion serves as a pleasant reminder that he’s not the cocky spitfire of an ant that he used to be. He had simmered down when he married his ex wife, though that quick temper had never quite left him. He could take solace in knowing it was no longer the constant it had used to be. 

His thoughts rattle to a halt in time with the tram, and Xero opens his eyes. He turns towards the door with a yawn, and proceeds to practically spring into the air with surprise when he notices Dryya again. He has to force himself to suppress the reflex of lashing out. She’s almost right behind him, staring down at him in complete silence for that moment. Xero huffs, and smoothes out his cloak.

“Are you ready to go.” Dryya’s words come out as more of a statement than a question, something she tends to do obnoxiously often. At this point, it would be strange for her to do anything else, at least in Xero’s eyes.

“Yes, of course. You may want to consider not… standing directly behind people, you know.” He points out as he moves past her and out the tram doors. Now that he knows she had been staring at him, he’s hyper-aware of her gaze on his back as he sets foot on the platform.

“I would suggest you pay more attention.” Dryya replies, ducking out of the tram to catch up with Xero, and fall into step beside him as they carry on. 

“I’ll think about it.” Xero shrugs, and carries on. Soon enough the two lapse into silence, making their way along the winding path to the eastern border without another word to one another for the duration of their hike. Xero is suddenly aware they should have more than two bugs on patrol, and he wonders just who finalized the decision to send just two bugs to arguably one of the most dangerous places in the entirety of the underground locale. It’s either a flattering attestment to the court’s faith in their skill, or some ploy to get them killed.

When they finally reach a suitable vantage point there at the top of the edge of their world, Xero stops. He looks out over the chasm, knowing an entire territory lies just across that wide gap. He wonders how different it is from Hallownest, what the Blackwyrm is like. He hopes they won’t have to see it. He’s heard that many a guard have ventured here, and few have returned. This Blackwyrm, whatever it is, seems not to take lightly to trespassers. Though not aloud, Xero admits to himself some horrible fascination in that much.

Dryya sits on the edge of the viewpoint, her legs hanging over the edge of it, and she looks downwards. Ash gathers- just barely- on the hem of her skirt, and she neatly brushes it away. It doesn’t even leave so much as a smudge behind. Everything Dryya does is maddeningly perfect.

Xero sits beside her. “So…”

“What.”

“Twenty hours.”

“Yes.”

“Plenty of time to argue, don’t you think?”

“Maybe.”

Xero sets his jaw. Talking to someone so… blunt, is something of a chore, isn’t it? “What will it be this time, then?”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“Good one.”

“What do you mean.”

Xero turns his head to look up at her, squinting. “Every time we’re scheduled together, you start something. Over-stepping my authority on training the soldiers, picking at me for the social class I came from, taking over tasks I was asked to do before I hardly have time to blink… It’s infuriating. Why do you do it?”

Dryya squints in turn, but she doesn’t look at Xero. She keeps those pitch black eyes focused on the other side of the chasm, Xero presumes to avoid making eyes contact. Dryya squares her shoulders, and crosses one leg over the other. “I could ask you why you feel the need to be so confrontational, why you have no self control, why you’re slow, why you behave so casually in a professional setting… If anything, you are the one that’s infuriating. I’m only doing my job.”

“And mine.” Xero points out, leaning forwards to rest his elbows on his knees and his chin in one hand. “I’d like to be able to do my own job, I’m capable of doing it, but you continuously take over. I can’t stand it. I was lucky to be offered a place in the King’s army at all, luckier still to be promoted to where I am now. If you continue to show me up at every opportunity… I will lose that. Though I suppose maybe that’s your goal, to get me out of the ranks of you upper class.”

“What are you talking about.”

“Oh, _please,”_ Xero rolls his eyes. “Everything about you _screams_ the air of a spoiled wealthy brat. Our very first day on the training grounds, you even took a jab at my social class.”

“You called my right to be there into question, when my presence was not my choice. You regarded me with hostility, I reacted accordingly. Would you not do the same, Xero?”

He looks away from her, considering her words carefully. “I suppose I would, but it’s… different for me than it is for you, that’s my entire point, here. I came to Hallownest with nothing but armor and a nail, I had to make a name for myself. I’ve been questioned at every turn on my right to be here, my right to stand among the higher ranks. My word gets ignored in favor of those known to have more geo in their pockets. But you…”

“Everything you do is perfect, at least in their eyes. You fit in with them all so well, they never question you, only look up to you with admiration.. The court loves you and the other three Great Knights, they’d heed your word unwaveringly. I don’t mean to garner any pity from this, I couldn’t care less what they think, but it makes my life difficult nevertheless. It’s as though I have to fight to exist, but they’ll never subject you to that. You exist to fight, for them.”

Dryya listens closely, not interjecting nor interrupting. Xero’s relatively certain it’s the only time she’s actually listened to a single word he’s said. 

“...I see.” She replies after some pause, and takes a deep breath. “I will admit to you that I have.. Been unnecessarily harsh on you since our first meeting. Your assumption that I was the same as all the others made me angry. I did not have to fight for this role, no, but there was more I wanted to be than a knight. My mother allowed for no such thing. I was to be shaped into exactly what she wanted. I was to be perfect, in every way. The ideal knight to serve the king one day... I suppose, in a way, we share the feeling of displacement among our peers.” She looks down at her claws, idly rubbing them together.

“...I was wrong to belittle you when your call to my imperfections upset me, I see that now. I never should have let that cloud my judgement, and allowed myself to continue to torment you. I’m sorry.”

Xero fidgets uncomfortably. He supposes everything Dryya says makes sense, and he appreciates an apology, but he… isn’t sure he’s so ready to forgive. He feels that these slights are on different scales. His judgement of her would never affect her life, but her judgements against him could turn his life upside down. The Court already has a few members that dislike him, Dryya’s disapproval would have been enough for them to call his loyalty into question. That could very well cost him.

“Thank you, Dryya… I apologize, as well. My expectation of mistreatment led me to treat you unfairly. Perhaps we could take this as a new beginning?” Xero slowly returns his gaze to her, and offers his free hand.

Dryya hesitates as she looks to see the offered hand. She takes it, and shakes once.   
“Gladly.”


	4. Exchanges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xero and Dryya spar one another

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's a little shorter than the rest, it's more of an expository section on how these two are starting to work on their attitudes towards one another

Xero raised one training nail, and pointed it towards his adversary. “On my count, we begin.” He speaks clearly, but not too loud, just enough to be well-heard and at least attempt to hold some authority in his tone. 

Dryya stands across the makeshift arena from him now, poised to take the defense. Her needle is held low and crossing in front of her body, a clear sign she’ll expect Xero to make the first strike. She waits patiently for her cue, so still she could be mistaken for a statue if one didn’t know any better.

These sparring sessions had been her suggestion, and Xero had welcomed the idea. He was trying to be more accepting of her perspective, though it proved challenging at times. Giving ground was not somewhere that a stubborn bug like Xero excelled, whether that be literally or metaphorically. He was well aware stubbornness was an issue that persisted with Dryya just the same, but in the few days since their last patrol it had been impossible not to notice that she had already given some ground of her own.

In a way, these sparring sessions were an exercise for it. A practice for the purpose of better understanding one another, not only in how they wield their weapons, but in how they think. Better understanding one another would mean less troubles training their ranks together, if nothing else. If they could work together, they could get along. Xero found some small part of himself hoping that they could work out their differences altogether.

He supposes he never necessarily hated Dryya as much as he hated his idea of what she was, but separating the two was an issue he still faced. There’s still many an issue he sees with her, doubtlessly, but… maybe he could learn to like it. Maybe she could change.  
Maybe he needed to change, too.

“Xero?” Dryya speaks up, straightening her posture and tilting her head every so slightly to the side. “Are we going to spar, or are you going to stand there?”

Xero cleared his throat, his face growing hot with embarrassment. How long had he been holding his pose, thinking? He needed to stop getting distracted, or it would be his undoing at some point, he figured. Distraction meant an opening, and if his opponent had been anyone less by-the-book than Dryya…  
“Right, my apologies. I’ve much on my mind.”

“Color me surprised.” She replies. Her tone is flat, but those black eyes of hers squint with amusement.  
Somehow, it doesn’t make Xero as angry as it might have when they first met. Maybe it’s that the taunt isn’t genuine, or that she’s poking at something that was entirely under Xero’s control. Either way, Xero finds it in himself to snicker. 

“I know, I know. Xero, with a coherent thought? Impossible.” He rolls his eyes, and fixes his stance. “Alright, at the ready.”

Dryya gives a hum to acknowledge his words, and hunkers down into her defensive pose once more. Training weapon held across her, its weight distributed evenly between her claws, feet planted firmly and wide apart on the ground, a fierce look in her eye.

Xero clears his throat. “En garde!” He calls, and he rushes for Dryya. He’ll play the offensive for this round, though it’s not usually his style to charge in. He’s impulsive, sure, but not _that_ impulsive. It’s much easier for him to focus and think his actions through when he’s faced with an opponent.  
He heads right for her, and at the last second dives low, swiping at her legs with both training nails. They meet their target with ease, and Xero drops into a roll to save himself from the impact the dive would have otherwise caused.

Then he feels a tug on his cloak, and he’s jerked violently to a stop. Dryya’s planted one foot firmly on his cloak, effectively pinning him where he is. Her needle strikes his back once, and then the back of his helm immediately after. She’s quick enough to make Xero wonder how any bug moves so fast. Were these weapons not soft shellwood, these strikes surely would have done much more damage than a bit of soreness. 

Xero lets himself fall still, and he waits, to see if she’ll buy the false surrender. He’s quick to realize this plan won’t work, as Dryya doesn’t strike again, but she doesn’t let him up either. Damn.  
Xero rolls onto his side and kicks one leg upwards, striking Dryya just above the hip and pushing her backwards. He yanks his cloak away and springs to his feet, keeping his eye on Dryya. 

She’s already headed his way again, and she strikes with her needle as soon as she’s in range to. It narrowly misses Xero’s side, but Dryya doesn’t stop moving forwards. She rams her horns into Xero’s helm hard enough to make it ring, and he staggers backwards away from her. Is she seriously _headbutting_ him?

Xero shakes his head, and he backs away further. It seems it’s his turn to take the defensive, which is fine by him. Dryya has halted, giving Xero just a moment to breathe, before she lunges for him again. This time, she dodges to the side and holds her needle out at the last second, clotheslining Xero before he can even hope to move out of her way. She knocks the ant flat on his back, and whips around to plant her foot on his torso before he can try to stand.

Xero feels the point of her needle under his chin, and he looks up at Dryya. That’s the first defeat Xero has ever met so quickly… He supposes he severely underestimated her capability. But now he knows what to expect for the next time.

“Well fought,” He speaks up, letting go of his nails to put his hands up in surrender. “I’ve never seen a bug move that fast. Not to mention you hit like a metric shit ton of bricks… I’ll admit it, I’m impressed.”

“Thank you.” Dryya squints again, and Xero figures it’s got to be some sort of smile though Dryya’s expression doesn’t change even slightly otherwise. She taps her needle against his chin a few times, then steps aside to let him up. “You did well, Xero… Even if you were predictable.”

“Mmhm?” Xero grunts as he sits up, and then pushes himself to his feet. He’s definitely going to be feeling this tomorrow, and likely the next day. By the wyrm, it already smarts something awful. Xero leans down to pick up both nails, and he takes a deep breath. “Well, now I know what to expect from you, I’ll be much more ready next time.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” Dryya lifts her chin proudly, and offers a bow before she straightens up again. “I look forward to sparring with you again, it’s the most fun I’ve had in ages.”

“If this is your idea of fun, I pity your friends.” Xero chuckles, but he gives a bow in return before he turns to return the training nails to their rack. He pauses as he fixes the last one into place, looking over his shoulder at Dryya. “Same time tomorrow?”

“I’ll be there.” Dryya nods once, dropping the training needle into the designated bin with the rest as she does. She waves one claw, before turning to make her way back towards the palace at a brisk pace as if she hadn’t just thoroughly kicked Xero’s ass.

Xero wonders how she manages to keep up with everything the way she does, never seeming to tire. He envies it, to some degree.


	5. Unlikely Encounters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Xero makes the first of many poor life decisions

Xero lifts his head with eyelids still heavy from slumber, and a soft yawn escapes him. His back hurts something terrible, and he realizes that he had neglected to go home the previous evening. He’s flat on his belly on a bench in the training grounds, still clad in full armor, nails dropped haphazardly on the ground beside him. Xero can’t say he recalls even laying down.

With a grunt, he shoves himself to sit up, nearly sliding off of the bench in the process. He sighs, and pulls off his helmet in order to crack his neck. Every inch of him is sore, he feels like he hasn’t rested at all. He can’t help but wonder how long he’s been sleeping there.

Yet, he can’t really blame himself for falling asleep. Work had been getting more and more difficult with every passing day, and the past month since his first spar session with Dryya had begun had been no exception. Xero couldn’t remember the last time since that day that he had felt well-rested. There was always something. _Always._ Whether it be a request to stay late and help maintain the armory, or a demand to arrive early for morning patrols, or added work on top of his regular assigned duties, there was always more for Xero to do. He couldn’t keep up with it all and maintain his self-care routines simultaneously. Much to his chagrin, his need for geo forced him to pick assigned duty above much else.

He yawns, and as he begins to stand, he cracks each limb and joint as though it would do anything to ease the aches. “Damn schedule,” he mutters to himself, and sits back down much quicker than he had stood. He puts his head in his hands, and takes a deep breath. Going anywhere seemed like a challenge far more difficult than fighting an entire war on his own in the moment. All the ant wanted was to sleep for more than a few hours, to feel rested. 

A claw prods him in the back, and Xero whips around so fast that he _does_ topple off of the bench this time. A pained groan escapes him, and he squints at the figure looming over him. He’s surprised to see not any guard, nor even Dryya, but Ze’Mer’s towering frame. 

“Che’ apologizes for startling you,” Her voice is soft with an otherworldly quality to it, and Xero realizes he’s never heard her speak before. She shifts, and a clawed hand reaches from… what Xero had once thought to be a shell. It appears that, rather, it’s countless thin strands. He isn’t sure of what, but it certainly isn’t chitin. He wonders if she’s even a bug. He had assumed silverfish, but he second guesses that now. 

Ze’Mer’s hand finds his cloak, and she lifts the general onto his feet. He sways, and she steadies him in a much similar manner. Xero has to resist the urge to duck away, knowing he would just fall flat on his ass and embarrass himself a second time.

“Don’t worry about it.” He shrugs, dusting himself off. “I was just thinking.”

“Ehh… sleeping, no?” Ze’Mer cants her head as she withdraws her hand. “Che’ has seen you. Che’ understands.” She straightens her posture then, and turns towards the palace. “Come, rest, there is still time.”

Xero sighs, wishing Ze’Mer wasn’t right about his unfortunate nap. He gathers himself up to trail after her, and she soon falls into step, a pace slow enough that he could keep up. He notes the way her movements lag to allow him as much, and he figures he would find this much more comical if he were any less tired. 

“Rest… in the palace?” He questions, pulling his cloak tight around him. “There’s hardly a comfortable room there, I’d be better off going home.”

“Non, Che’ insists.” Ze’Mer replies, not turning her gaze to Xero as she does. “Between general and knight… Che’ knows not which of her friends needs more careful watch.” 

“We aren’t friends.” Xero points out, a little more bitterly than he means to. “What do you mean, more careful watch? Is someone in the Great Four in need of babysitting?” He has to admit some amusement to that idea, the mental image of Dryya or mighty Hegemol being tailed by a fussing Ze’Mer. He can almost see it. 

“Baby-sat, no, no.” Ze’Mer shakes her head, but she gives no further elaboration much to Xero’s annoyance.

Xero had never liked indirect conversation, but he tries not to hold it against Ze’Mer too much since he knows next to nothing about her. He already learned that lesson with Dryya. “Then… what are you getting at, exactly?”

There’s a slight hint of amusement to Ze’Mer’s tone when she replies. “Dryya, yesterday. She works herself to death, could it be? You are like she is?” 

Xero scoffs. “We aren’t that similar. Dryya loves to work, she never does anything else.” He rolls his eyes as he trudges after the Knight, focusing on the conversation only because it distracted him from how tired he felt. But oh, how he longed to sleep. “I work as much as I do because _His Majesty _gives me no option. Believe me, I would love to be at home, crawling into my own nest, and getting as much sleep as I could ever want.”__

__“Che’ does not doubt it.” Ze’Mer lets a soft laugh escape her as she ducks through the doorway into the palace, pausing to make sure Xero is still behind her before she carries on. She moves more fluidly than Dryya, yet there’s a quality to it Xero can’t quite describe. Dryya’s mannerisms are all harsh, sharp, and quick. Ze’Mer is… Softer, taking her time, relaxed. Xero finds it easy to be calm near her._ _

__It doesn’t make staying awake any easier._ _

__“You’re a strange one, Ze’Mer.” He comments halfway to himself, averting his gaze elsewhere. “...Where is it we’re going, anyways?”_ _

__“Ahhh...The Retainers’ quarters.” She gives what has probably been the easiest-to-decipher response so far with this answer. She pauses where she stands again._ _

__“Fair enough.” Xero almost passes her by, then feels a hand on the back of his armor. Next thing he knows, he’s being lifted into the air, and then settled into Ze’Mer’s arms. Any other time, Xero would surely argue, maybe even fight over it, but not now. For now, he is far too tired to bother. So, reluctantly, he accepts that Ze’Mer is toting him around with ease._ _

__It isn’t much longer until he’s dozing off again, and by the time they reach the Retainers’ quarters, Xero is fast asleep._ _

__…_ _

__He wakes the next morning to Dryya’s sharp tone, and puzzled murmurs from nearby Royal Retainers._ _

__“Get up. I need to talk to you.” Dryya’s tone, as always, is flat and yet stern, insistent that he do as she asks._ _

__Xero can’t help but be annoyed. He slept better, this time around, and yet he’s still so tired. He grumbles, and pulls the pillow over his head to curl up in a bed that’s far too small. “A little longer,” he huffs, muffled by the bedding._ _

__Dryya practically rips the pillow from his hands. “Now.” She insists, and pulls the blanket away next. “Hurry up.”_ _

__“By the gods, what’s got your horns in a twist?” Xero sits up with much complaint, both verbal and from the way his joints creak like old wood. He’s _definitely_ sure that that isn’t supposed to happen, but he ignores it all the same. Dryya doesn’t have to know it isn’t normal._ _

__“I was born that way. Now get up and follow me.”_ _

__“Right, born with a stick up your-”_ _

__“Do _not_ finish that thought.”_ _

__“Alright, alright, fine.” Xero sighs, and pushes himself to his feet._ _

__Just as soon as he does, Dryya grabs his arm to haul him out of the room. Whatever’s going on, she seems angry… Or, more irritable than normal, anyways. She practically drags him into the hall, and shoves the door to the quarters shut behind him. Xero’s surprised it doesn’t slam, but relieved._ _

__“Okay, we’re out here, I’m up. What do you want?” Xero pulls his arm away from her._ _

__“What in the King’s name were you doing on the Training Grounds in the middle of the night?” Dryya snaps, crossing her slender arms and glowering at Xero. Her concern with the matter takes him by surprise._ _

__“Why is it any of your business?” Xero retorts, unwittingly mimicking Dryya’s gesture and scowling._ _

__“Ze’Mer informed me that you had fallen asleep there. You shouldn’t be-”_ _

__Xero cuts Dryya off mid-sentence. “She told me you do the exact same thing.” He quirks a brow, and leans most of his weight onto one foot. “Don’t you go nitpicking me. It was a single incident on my behalf, whilst you have apparently made it a habit. Again, I can’t see why it’s of any concern to you, anyways.”_ _

__Dryya pauses, then fidgets. It’s an awkward gesture, and awkward isn’t at _all_ what Xero is used to from Dryya. She’s always so well put together that seeing her as anything else feels almost surreal. “Being a hypocrite doesn’t make me wrong.”_ _

__“But it sure does make people not like you.”_ _

__“... Okay, I worry about your health. Is that a satisfactory answer for you?”_ _

___“You worry about me?”_ Xero can hardly believe what he’s hearing. He fidgets awkwardly now, and looks down at the floor to avoid meeting Dryya’s eye. “You don’t need to. I know my limits, and I’m not taking on any more than I can handle.”_ _

__“Everyone can see that you’ve been exhausted, Xero, you need to take a break.”_ _

__“I can’t.”_ _

__“And why not?”_ _

__Xero sighs, and shakes his head. “I need the payment in order to keep my home, to keep myself fed, to take care of my less fortunate neighbors… I need the geo, I can’t spare the time in my schedule.”_ _

__There’s a long pause, and then Dryya takes her turn to look away. Her expression never changes, but Xero knows at least that she’s contemplating his words. Dryya taps a claw against her own shell, and she stares at the wall for what feels like a century before she focuses on him once more._ _

__Dryya takes a deep breath, which she exhales slowly. “At least make sure to take your naps where you aren’t in plain sight. I don’t want you to lose your job.”_ _

__Xero clutches at his cloak, and begrudgingly nods. “Fine, fine…”  
Another beat of silence.  
He looks up at Dryya, and he grins. “Only if you’ll cover for me.”_ _

__“... For you? Absolutely not.” Dryya turns on her heel and marches away briskly, though Xero swears he caught a hint of amusement in her eyes._ _

__Xero bursts into poorly-stifled laughter._ _


End file.
